


Follow Me (Don't Be Such A Holy Fool)

by azure-horizons (DeadLoaf)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Blood, Dark, Domestic, Dubious Morality, Implied/Referenced Violence, M/M, Morally Grey Dick Grayson, kind of, or at least kind of, questionable displays of affection, soft, what happens when you grow up surrounded by emotionally constipated people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadLoaf/pseuds/azure-horizons
Summary: Dick was used to being the concerned adult, and being subjected to Batman's type of concern, usually involving a fist and a slew of barbed words.Slade is something else and Dick can't seem to get used to it.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 147





	Follow Me (Don't Be Such A Holy Fool)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [An Eye For An Eye, A Tooth For A Tooth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808107) by [Averia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Averia/pseuds/Averia). 



> This was supposed to be a dark romance that shifted to fluff.
> 
> Probably OOC, but not too much.
> 
> Title is from "Electric Chapel" by Lady Gaga.

“I had it under control.”

Slade scoffed, “Oh believe me Grayson, I’m sure you know that I, of all people, am aware of that fact.”

Suffice to say, Dick expected this to happen at some point. He had been working on a series of loosely connected cases for the past week. It just so happened that he accidentally stumbled upon a major point via hostage exchange and a kidnapping in the middle of a mundane errand.

Being Richard Grayson put him at a disadvantage, but he was far from helpless. And like a bloodhound attuned to his scent, Slade caught on to his whereabouts, turning Dick’s impromptu infiltration a full one-eighty.

After about fifteen minutes passed since he ushered out the last of the captives and took on the grunts when heads flew to a blade’s fatal song. There was confusion, a bit of gawking, whiplash, and before he knew it, he’s being carried bridal style by a deadly mercenary. There’s always a leeway in Slade’s hold, but far be it for him to move from his position, no matter how annoyed he feels. Being carried beats walking on a sprained ankle.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another three days. I was planning a surprise but I guess you’re gonna have to endure two weeks of shitty takeout meals – if you don’t give me a damn good explanation.”

“Horrifying. No welcome kiss for me?”

“I would, but I don’t think you’d appreciate something possibly getting bitten off.”

“Hmm, tempting.”

“No, but really. I mapped out an escape route, messed with the control center, and gathered more than enough evidence to totally dismantle the operation,” Dick points out, tone carefully controlled, his brow furrowing further in annoyance. “This was totally unnecessary.”

“I expected nothing less from you.” Slade’s mouth curves into a smug grin, as if he himself had come up with the plans, and Dick is torn on whether to give that welcome kiss or make good on his threat and rip the grin out of his face. Instead, he takes deep breaths, timing it to Slade’s long strides, steady and unbothered despite the armful of vigilante.

He’s been carried _a lot_ in his life, both willingly and not. The ones he consents to, he loves, especially from the people close to his heart. The encasing warmth of a familiar presence echoing the warm days of his childhood.

The arm under his knees and around his waist are like tightly coiled steel cables, bordering between wanting to break him and never letting go. A meld of his trust and Slade’s choice in such a simple but vulnerable situation, making his heart beat _vivace_.

It wasn’t like Kory who is fond of carrying him facing her most of the time, bodies pressed as close as possible. Her lean and toned arms firm around his back as they fly and maybe kiss in zero G.

It was far from Donna’s, who doesn’t so much as carry him, but mostly kept a tight grip on him. Arms and legs free whether in the middle of a mission or carrying out mischief with the rest of the Titans.

Not quite like Clark who is both gentle and tightly restrained. From the careful embrace around Robin to the random ankle holds when catching Nightwing from a freefall down a skyscraper.

And not quite like Bruce’s firm hold that started out awkward during the early days, seemingly debating whether to hold him close or loose. He got better at it eventually.

Slade doesn’t shy in using his strength, grip always bruising whenever Dick is in his arms. And so Dick has no problem relaxing and letting the mercenary take on his full weight, a message that never fails to soften Slade’s gaze.

That bruising grip makes itself known, his body being pressed further against armor. “You say that, but explain this?” Dick almost pouts, but turns it into a snarl.

Slade continues walking, Dick almost thinking that is the end of it when the hand around his waist adjusts to cup the back of his neck, tucking his head on a broad neck. “Fighting back in your civilian identity is risky, little bird. They would have tested on you. Your body has been exposed to too many drugs and toxins since your childhood.”

Whatever sharp reply he was going to dish out catches on his throat. The way Slade says it, a common fact always at the back of his mind, worrying enough to rush back and abate it.

His indignation at being unnecessarily rescued dissipated almost immediately. The simple concern creating a stir deep within himself he thought shriveled up, like a splash of water on a parched patch of soil.

“Also, can’t I say I missed you? And before you ask, I made sure the kids made it out before finding you.” Dick feels the deep rumble against his side and he looks up to meet Slade’s pale blue eye. A thin trail of crimson momentarily catches his attention and Dick rubs it idly with a thumb, finding childish fascination at the way it looks, spread across Slade’s cheek.

His expression mellows down into a dopey smile. “You’re such a closet softie. Here I am trying to be angry and you decide to pull out the big guns. So unfair,” he sighs dramatically.

“As a matter of fact, I did, back on the second level,” Slade deadpans.

“Of course, you did. I’m going to ignore it for now and make myself comfortable.”

Comfortable is a bit of a stretch, what with the cold and hard armor, contusions in various sizes scattered across his body, and his ripped clothes. But yes, he is as comfortable as one can be while being leisurely carried out of an illegal underground drug testing facility.

Dick tucks himself back against Slade’s neck, inhaling the scent of kevlar, metal, and blood. He leans his forehead to feel the other’s throbbing pulse, then leaves a soft kiss on the spot. A point he once aimed to pierce, but now a reassuring presence.

“The BPD's outside taking care of the kids. Would you like to stay and explain first, little bird?”

Dick leans back to meet Slade’s questioning look, looks at the flecks of scarlet decorating his cheeks and hair. Looks around and lets the aroma of copper, heavy like a mouthful of pennies, engulf his senses as he admires the macabre invocation of Jackson Pollock on the walls.

The sight of the carnage should have bothered him, making him demand to be released and informing the BPD about what happened, distance himself from the man who would slaughter without hesitation as an act of concern.

But he doesn’t.

He sees haste on a row of gutted men, impatience on a bisected body, efficiency in the deep arc of crimson splashes. A pleasant warmth spreads throughout every fiber of his being, building up, making him want to share the warmth with Slade in return.

He meets the questioning gaze again and smiles, “Take me home.”

* * *

Slade carries him all the way to their shared safehouse, the ache in his ankle subsiding by the time his feet meets the tile.

Dick begrudgingly resigns himself to sit in the kitchen as he waits for Slade to remove his armor and draw a bath for them both. It’s not long before he’s peeling the honeydew from the nearby fruit basket and slicing it into small chunks for a light late night snack.

Just as Dick doesn’t protest when being carried, Slade wordlessly enters the bathtub first while he sits on the nearby stool. The blossoming warmth thrums beneath his skin while he washes the blood off from Slade’s person. It’s an activity he loved indulging in, and he knows it’s the same with Slade too.

Barring more specific requests, Slade prefers clean hits when doing his job, faster and lesser cleanup. It’s when it gets personal that he chooses to get close, wreaking havoc like an angel of death. He’ll get covered in blood and bits of gore, and Dick would be on him like white on rice.

He’s not sure why the sight makes his chest explode with affection. Why the thought of bloodshed, not because, but _for_ him makes his heart sing and makes him smile until his cheeks hurt.

Washing it away is another experience in itself, a different kind of intimacy that speaks layers upon layers of unspoken intentions between them. Which remnant to wash away, the dregs of a problem violently solved, the proof of his darkness, the guilt? Or perhaps to show his love in taking care of a loved one, a trait shared by both in varying ways?

With a soft washcloth in hand, he takes his time rubbing off each drop of vermillion on warm ivory. Gentle strokes on every line, as if memorizing each little detail. Carding calloused fingers through short silver locks, erasing the taint in each strand before rubbing Slade's head with shampoo. All throughout, Dick relishes on the content sighs and soft groans tumbling out of Slade’s mouth. 

He’ll get lost in the action until Slade murmurs, “It’s your turn, little bird,” and breaks him out of his reverie.

Fortunately, they have a rather large bathtub, a minor result of Slade’s rare hedonistic tendencies, able to fit them both and have more than enough room for Dick to avoid pressure on his ankle. He settles between Slade’s legs, basking in the mercenary’s care and attention while leaning back against a broad chest.

“I missed you too,” Dick breathes out.

They end up on the fluffy couch, mirroring their previous position in the bathtub, Slade’s back against the armrest and one of Dick’s foot elevated by pillows, an ice pack pressed on the damaged area. The platter of sliced honeydew rests on the coffee table. Slade takes turns feeding them both while scrolling through his contracts and Dick updates the progress on his cases on his laptop.

It’s a comfortable silence at least until Dick shuts off his laptop, sets it aside, and leans back with a sigh.

“I’m still upset.”

He feels Slade’s exhale before the latter stops scrolling and sets his phone down on the table, his now free hand wrapping around Dick to pull him closer. Dick accepts another offered fruit slice and focuses on savoring the sweet refreshing flavor coating his tongue and running down his throat.

“Perhaps a few rounds of sparring as soon as your ankle heals?”

Slade’s right hand offers him the last slice. Dick chomps on it, but not before clutching the limb and rubbing his thumb on a small bump of raised skin near the elbow. “It’ll do. Sai against katana.”

There’s a brief hitch in the steady breathing near his ear and Dick laughs, “Yeah, you’ll like that, don’t cha?” He adds to it by licking the juice on Slade’s fingers and smirks at the sound of a choked groan.

Slade nips his neck, “Cruel boy. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I love the Master/Apprentice dynamic, I like it better when they are both predators trying to coexist.
> 
> Also, dare I say Slade has a competency kink. I mean, he was married to Adeline Kane *shrugs*
> 
> Idk what I wrote but do leave a comment and tell me what you think :)


End file.
